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The van began to move and Zhutov adjusted his trajectory to cut across its rear. When he did, the driver slammed on the brakes, fishtailing on the slick cobbles. The back doors were thrown open and he stumbled to the right, barely avoiding being hit by one.

Despite extensive training in his youth, Zhutov froze. He found himself unable to resist as a man leapt out of the vehicle and grabbed him by the front of his suit jacket. The Russian was nearly lifted from the ground as he was driven into the vehicle’s cramped cargo space. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the wet squeal of tires, but the sound seemed to disappear when he looked into the dark eyes of the man preparing to close the doors from his position on the street.

“No!” Zhutov shouted before he could be closed off from the outside world. His heart rate, already elevated from adrenaline and his evening workout, shot up again when he managed to put a name to the face. “Stop! I haven’t betrayed you! I swear I haven’t!”

He tried to fight into a sitting position but someone behind him grabbed his shoulders and held him down. Zhutov looked up at the disarming grin and neatly trimmed blond hair of Scott Coleman. “Relax, Vasily. We’re the good guys.”

“Go!” Rapp shouted, slamming the doors. He was sprayed with water as Maslick gunned the van’s anemic engine and drifted it onto a winding street leading north. The safe house was less than three miles away and Coleman’s team would hole up

there for a few days to debrief Zhutov and build him a new identity.

A more pressing problem was the similar van barreling down on Rapp from the other side of the square. Behind him, there was a narrow walkway between two buildings. It would be an easy getaway since he wasn’t aware of a single Russian operative who could even come close to keeping up with him on foot. It would also leave a lot of questions unanswered.

Too many, Rapp decided. Kennedy would just have to deal with the fallout.

He slipped his Glock 19 from beneath his jacket and sighted over the silencer toward the van now just over twenty yards away. The windshield wipers were running at full speed, giving him a clear view of the two men in the front seat. He aimed at the driver and squeezed off a round. The Winchester Ranger Bonded wasn’t his normal go-to ammunition, but it was ideal for this scenario. Subsonic to eliminate the crack caused by the round breaking the sound barrier but with excellent penetration capability.

A spiderwebbed hole opened directly in front of the driver’s face, but the bullet didn’t find its mark. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. The deflection of even a hard-hitting bullet could be significant. In his career he’d experienced everything from shots that went straight through to the target, to one that had veered so violently it had sheared off a side-view mirror.

The van swerved as the driver instinctively raised his hands to protect his face from the tiny shards of glass. Rapp fired a second shot at the damage made by the first. The softened glass reduced deflection and a spray of blood erupted when the driver’s forehead was torn away.

The vehicle slowed as the man’s foot went limp and Rapp moved left, bringing the side door into view. These tended to be three-man operations and that suggested the last team member was out of view in the cargo section. It was a prediction that was proved right when the door slid open and a bulky man with an unsuppressed Russian 9A-91 assault rifle started to leap out. Rapp blew the back of his skull off and watched as he pitched forward into the street. One of his feet got -tangled in a seat belt and he was dragged along, leaving a broad streak of blood and brain matter on the wet cobblestones.

The surviving man in the passenger seat grabbed the wheel and turned the vehicle toward Rapp, desperately trying to get his foot past his dead companion’s leg in order to slam the accelerator to the floor. It was a vaguely pathetic sight, and Rapp just stood there as the van rolled to a stop a few feet in front of him.

“Get out!” he yelled as the Russian stared at him wide-eyed and raised his hands.

He did as ordered and Rapp indicated toward the corpse hanging halfway out the door. “Put him inside.”

The dead weight looked significant but the Russian managed. The square and the windows of the buildings around them were still empty, but it wouldn’t last. One local with a cell phone was all it would take to bring the police down on them.

“You’re driving,” Rapp said, keeping his weapon lined up on the man as he dragged what was left of the original driver into the cargo area. Rapp climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed, pressing the tip of his silencer into the man’s ribs.

“Go. Nice and easy. No need to attract attention.”

The Russian seemed reluctant to lean back into the blood-soaked headrest and instead hunched over the wheel as he steered the car past an empty playground.

“What’s your name?” Rapp said.

“Vadim Yenotin.”

“Do you know who I am?”

The man swallowed and nodded.

“Then you understand your situation.”

“Yes.”

They turned onto a broader avenue and were immediately surrounded by the glare of headlights.

“You have two options, Vadim. The first is that I take you to a safe house with a soundproof basement. Things get ugly and you tell me everything you know.”

“I do not like this plan.” His accent was thick but understandable.

“You’re smarter than you look. Good. Option two is for you to answer all my questions completely and truthfully. After that, my boss calls your boss and they do a little horse-trading. You know the drill—we give up a little information and maybe pad a few of your superiors’ retirement accounts. A week later, you’re sitting in your apartment drinking vodka.”

“Yes. I like this very much. This is what should be done.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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